Sex Ed with Nate & Chuck
by PlonkerOnDaLoose
Summary: Sex Ed with Nate & Chuck. No, seriously, Sex Ed with Nate & Chuck - You have a filthy mind, dear reader. Just a funny little one-shot while I get back into the swing of things


_**A/N: **_and so I have returned! Mwhahahhahah! Apologies, I was in India for six weeks, and then at Oxegen (most AWESOMEST weekend of my ENTIRE LIFE. And all my past lives. I met Paolo Nutini - *gasp* - Jared Leto shook my hand - *faint* - and I got concussed at Prodigy - *actual faint* - but it was all hunky dory coz I caught the end of Eminem. So frickin' worth it man!), and now I am here. Shady's back, back again ... lol, jk.

Will be updating all my other fics, systematically, over the next few days, but, first, here's a little ditty that just popped into my head. It's un-beta'd, so be warned. Enjoy!

* * *

**Penetration Education**

_Get out of there!_

**...**_  
_

It was six AM on the first day of term, and already, Nate was depressed. The Freshmen's new timetables had been posted online the day before – of course, his mother checked it up online to make sure he was 'adequately prepared', blah blah blah – and, to his dismay, scheduled first thing on Monday morning was double Sexual Education with the Constance Billard girls. Nate was not impressed. Sure, Blair would be that, and that was a definite plus, but he couldn't help thinking it'd be totally awkward talking about, like, STDs and teenage pregnancy with her sitting beside him.

Maybe they could just cut class and go make out in the boys' locker room?

Like Blair would _ever _cut class.

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE– _

The alarm on Chuck's clock went off, inevitably ten minutes late. Nate rolled over – and off the couch – and lay on the shag rug in a cocoon of blankets wondering why he was stupid enough as to wait for Chuck's clock in the morning. It always made them late. As he pulled the covers back over his head, Nate vowed then and there to go and fix his own alarm clock and set it ten minutes early. That'd own Chuck good. Especially since it was Chuck who busted the aforementioned clock when he threw it in against the wall after it went off at one AM.

Or, he supposed, he could sleep in his own room and not crash on the couch in the Bass suite.

Nate deeply regretted ever hearing that alarm. He had his pillows in a perfectly mashed position for his head, his feet were comfortably sticking out from under the covers a bit to keep them cool, his right arm was curled around another fluffy pillow, and the sofa cushions were bent just so to accommodate him. But that damned alarm clock–

–_P BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_

A seemingly bodyless hand shot out from under the abundance of covers on Chuck's bed, slammed the _snooze_ button on the alarm clock, then slunk back into the dark depths between the covers and the mattress. Nate fought his way free and rubbed his eyes. He stumbled blindly around the darkened suite, scrounging around for clothes.

"Chuck? Have you seen my pants?"

There was no answer from Chuck's bed aside from the inaudible grunt that Nate interpreted as a _no_, so he continued his scavenger hunt. The pants were proving elusive; they weren't in his suitcase, in Chuck's wardrobe, thrown over the back of his chair, strew haphazardly across the floor or even under the bed. It was, quite frankly, a mystery. Nate was baffled. Pants didn't just vanished into thin air. Someone must have stolen them. Maybe one of the housekeeping staff had a chino fetish? Clearly, there was a pants gremlin on the loose.

Nate shrugged and buttoned up his shirt instead, shuffling off into the bathroom to brush his teeth – Only to find his elusive pants, hanging up on the shower stall, still damp, with a mysterious red stain down one side.

And then he remembered.

Last night, Chuck had been writing – something, God knows what – with a red sharpie and Bart came in and yelled at him for writing on the surfaces without leaning on something, lest he leave mark. So Chuck grabbed the nearest thing – the nearest thing being Nate's freshly pressed school pants – and, logically, turned them inside out and leant on them. The Sharpie had bled through and despite their best, slightly drunken, efforts to erase the stain, Nate now looked like he had pissed his pants ... with red piss.

He thought hard, scrutinising his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and made an executive decision to wear the stupid pants – he could totally rock the stain – then began to excavate in search of clean socks.

Finally, the abundance of covers on Chuck's bed moved. The covers were thrown off a good three feet across the room and Chuck sat up. His dark hair hung in strands in front of his face and his eyes looked almost exhausted as Nate felt. Chuck managed to pull himself out of bed, although he looked somewhat shaky.

"Hangover?"

Chuck moaned and rubbed his eyes, which Nate interpreted as a _yes_. But whether or not Chuck was hungover, he still managed to pull himself into a pair of pants, a yellow polo shirt, his school blazer, shoes – though there was some confusion over which brogue went on which foot, exactly – and, fair play, found his scarf, which was hidden under a large mound of ... stuff.

By the time Chuck was adequately attired, Nate had found his socks, pulled them on, gotten his shoes on, and ran a comb through his hair. Chuck wasted no time. He ran a handful of gel through his hair to take it back, and ran the comb through it about three times. Then off it was.

Nate complained through a mouthful of Danish in the back of the limo.

"This Sex-Ed shit is so overrated. We learned this already in like, the fifth grade or something."

Chuck didn't answer. He was too busy over-viewing his schedule since he'd been too smashed to do it the night before. Nate looked over momentarily.

"Whatcha got first?"

Chuck smirked.

"Sex-Ed."

"You too man! There is no way I am going to stay awake through this class. And the pictures they show! Nasty."

Chuck shrugged, but didn't say anything.

The two made their way down the hallway towards the biology lab where they would have their Sex Ed classes. Stopping at the door, Nate hesitated. Chuck gave him a wide-eyed look as if to say 'Get your ass in there'. So Nate went in, trailed by Chuck, trailed by his scarf, and they both took a seat in the very back row, as, unsurprisingly, they were the last to arrive and all the other seats were taken – though Nate made a point to walk by Blair's desk, like, slowly. She tried not to, but she smiled back.

So did Serena.

"Alright," Mr. Summers said, standing up, "I'm Mr. Summers for all of you who don't know me, and welcome to your Sexual Education class."

A few of the boys sniggered, and Mr. Summers cast them a censorious look before pressing onwards.

"I'm going to call role. When I call your name, please say 'present' and raise your hand."

He went after his clipboard and began the role call.

"Nathaniel Archibald?"

"Present."

"Chuck Bass?"

Chuck raised his head, a fraction, up off the desk, but instead of saying 'present', his response was, "Mornin' sunshine."

The whole class sniggered a bit, though not Mr. Summers. It was widely believed he had a pool cue surgically inserted up his rectum, or so Nate figured, because there was no other way he could be such a tight ass.

"Isabella Coates?"

"Present!"

"Antony Eustace?"

"Present."

They went through role call until finally Blair, Serena and that Nelly Yuki chick were declared present.

"Kind of a small class," Nate said quietly.

Chuck nodded in agreement.

Near the front, someone raised their hand. "Er. Sir? You didn't call my name. It's Dan, Dan Humphrey."

"Oh." Mr. Summers peered down at his clipboard and then at the boy. "Oh. Not to worry, you're right here. Humphrey. My apologies, Don."

"It's _Dan_."

"Of course," snapped Mr. Summers. "Don. Like I said."

Chuck sniggered.

Mr. Summers opened the class by asking how many of the students in the class had ever engaged in any sexual activity. Nobody did anything. Nate was doodling on a piece of paper, only partially paying attention. Chuck's head was down and Nate suspected he was asleep.

When nobody raised their hands, Mr. Summers went straight into the STD slide show. All it was comprised of was pictures of STDs. Nate was thoroughly disgusted by the end of the show and felt as if he were about to puke. Chuck, however, was fine, as he had pretty much slept through the whole thing. When the show was over, the class was finished, so Chuck and Nate departed the class, and went their separate ways to their electives. Nate headed off towards the home economics room for his culinary class, taking a detour so he could escort Blair to AP French, while Chuck swaggered off towards the west wing for Italian. They met up again after math and took an elongated lunch because Nate was in the mood for pizza and Chuck needed to meet his dealer.

The next Monday transpired exactly as the last had: alarm clock goes off, Nate wakes up, Chuck hits 'snooze', Nate gets ready, Chuck busts his ass to be out the door, they go to Sex- Ed, Chuck falls asleep, Nate doodles and sends notes to Blair.

The semester pretty much continued in the same vein with few alterations. Among the ever changing was the to-do of every Sex-Ed class. It was everything from Pre-Tests, to tests, to pop-quizzes, to movies, to models (and not the Playboy kind. The plastic kind, with attachable penises. Or, un-attachable, as it proved one rainy morning in February. Mr. Summers, working hard to jam the erect dick back onto the human, saying, "It's a bit bent, kids". He gave them all detention for laughing, but Blair somehow managed to extradite herself from the punishment) to more disgusting pictures. And every week, to Nate's sheer disgust, it got harder. He didn't know Sex-Ed could be so tough. Freakin' complicated shit, man. So eventually, when grade reports came half-way through, he was happy to learn he had an A. After a long talk with his parents over the summer, he had decided to make a more concerted effort with his school work this semester – and Blair had let him copy. Of course, the first thing he did was brag to Chuck. It only made sense to brag to the flunky. But Chuck didn't say anything. No retaliation, no snide comments. Nate was surprised, but decided not to push the matter.

During the second term, instead of only being a little harder, Nate was jolted into reality by failing a test. He never failed, not really _failed_, just got a steady stream of low Bs and high Cs. And as the second term went on, he failed more and more tests, and had to do more and more extra credit to make it up. It was started to exhaust him even more than his calculus class. So he began playing through it as if it were a college class. He brought a tape recorder to record the lessons and took every note he could. He even went in for extra help and did tons of extra credit work, including a project with Blair that comprised of a highly documented trip to an STD clinic ... in Brooklyn, for crying out loud, like talk about leaping into the snake pit. And yet, every Monday, Chuck slept through class. He did his tests, sure, and woke up when he had to do a paper, but he slept through everything else. Nate found it rather amusing to flick paper footballs at him. Fifty points to hit him in the eye. Yes, he had even come up with a scoring system, although he rarely had the chance to be such a jackass with all the notes he was taking.

At the end of the term, grade reports came out on the last day of Sex-Ed. Nate was devastated to find he had a C-. WTF? Walking out of Sex-Ed on the last day, he was talking over it with Chuck.

"I mean, seriously! What the hell? A C-! NO WAY! There is no way I could get a C- in Sex Ed. No way!"

"Well, I don't mean to burst your bubble, Nathaniel … No, wait, yes I do. You got a C- in Sex Ed."

Nate glared at Chuck and noticed his grade sheet, folded neatly and tucked into the breast pocket of his shirt.

"Well, if I got a C- and actually paid attention, I can't imagine what you got by just sleeping all term."

Chuck didn't say anything. Nate, being the nosy young lad he is, snatched the grade report out of his best friends's pocket. Opening it, his eyes widened in horror.

"An _A+_! One hundred and fifteen percent! _WHAT!_"

Chuck smirked as Nate started to sweat profusely.

"_Wha_…! Did you copy my notes?"

"Nope."

"Did you actually take notes?"

"Nope."

"Extra help?"

"Nope."

"Cheat?"

That was Nate's last, desperate, hope.

"Nathaniel, your doubt, it crushes me."

Nate was horribly confused. How could it be that Chuck Bass had got a bona fide A+ in a class that Nate had a C- in – by sleeping through it? What was going on?

Chuck snatched back his grade report, stuffed it into his back pocket and turned to go down the hall to where Italian was. Nate began shaking his head and walking in the opposite direction to the gym. But he suddenly had an afterthought. Turning on his heel, he yelled down the hall after Chuck.

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU DO IT!"

Without turning around, Chuck replied straight-faced.

"FIRST-HAND EXPIRIENCE."


End file.
